


Even the plainest of the plain shall deign to reign (and boy, you're reigning over me)

by exbex



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, chubby jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 13:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10218995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex
Summary: Lardo looks at Kent with the most knowing look he’s ever seen aside from his own mother’s. “Kent,” she finally replies, “I like you Bro. So I’m going to give you the following information. Information, which, I assure you, is publicly available. Jack, who transferred in weeks ago, Oh Unobservant One, knows me through GSA. Jack is not straight. Jack likes hockey, among other things. And that is all the emotional labor that I am doing for free.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of a Jack who remained chubby: http://wheeloffortune-design.tumblr.com/post/157342533190/au-where-jack-never-did-sports
> 
> And I jumped on the bandwagon and ran in this particular direction.

“Who is that?” Kent is trying, only moderately successfully, to avoid staring at the gorgeous figure that has materialized in the stands.

“Who?” Troy follows Kent’s glance.

“The cutie with the blue eyes.”

“Sitting with Lardo? That’s Jack Zimmermann.”

“Is he new?”  
“Yeah, his dad is the new head coach for the Rangers. You know, Bob Zimmermann. As in, Bad Bob Zimmermann. As in, four time Stanley Cup winner.” Troy pauses. “You say you’re serious about hockey, but if you’re an Islanders fan…”

The paternity is an interesting fact about this Jack Zimmermann, but not as interesting as the fact that he’s tall, dark, and handsome. “You think I have a chance?”

“A chance to what?”

“Make out with him.”

“You want to make out with Bob Zimmermann’s son?”

“I don’t care whose son he is; he’s hot. Totally my type.”

“Well, I’d say your chances are about as good as they ever are. So, non-existent.”

“Really? This from the guy who spilled chocolate milk all over Cynthia Peres last week.”

Troy squints at him, that calculating look he gets when he’s trying to come up with a really good chirp. He spends too long working on it though, and skates right into the boards. Kent grins, listening to his teammates erupt. _This is a good day,_  
he thinks.

**  
“Lardo, Goddess. Please, tell me everything you know about Jack Zimmermann.”

Lardo looks at Kent with the most knowing look he’s ever seen aside from his own mother’s. “Kent,” she finally replies, “I like you Bro. So I’m going to give you the following information. Information, which, I assure you, is publicly available. Jack, who transferred in weeks ago, Oh Unobservant One, knows me through GSA. Jack is not straight. Jack likes hockey, among other things. And that is all the emotional labor that I am doing for free.”

**

As luck would have it, Kent has two classes with Jack; P.E. and U.S. History. Predictably, Jack, who is the most interesting conundrum ever, turns out to be like salt water-irresistible to a parched Kent but consequently producing an unquenchable thirst. Jack, with his flannel shirts and jeans, floppy bangs and extra weight, doesn’t look like an athlete or a scholar, but he turns out to be a little bit of both. He’s not exactly a star, but he more than holds his own in whatever they’re doing in P.E., and he answers almost all of the questions in history with a quiet but confident voice, French-Canadian accent adding a layer of irony to it all.

Kent is in trouble.

**

Jack, as it turns out, is a tutor, his specialties being English, history, and French. Kent curses the day he chose Spanish, but his academic talents skew towards math and science, and his attentions skew towards hockey and daydreaming about cute boys. Therefore this is an equation that will work out in his favor.

Tutoring is in the library Mondays and Wednesdays from 3:45 to 5:30, so Kent squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, and strides through the double doors only to see the object of his desires glancing up from a book to stare wide-eyed at Camilla Collins.  
Damn. Kent has a single moment of deflation before remembering that sometimes people mistake he and Camilla for siblings. If Jack Zimmermann has a type, Kent has a chance.

Optimism renewed, Kent tries to remain casual as he scrolls through his phone’s contacts.

_CC, let me have Zimmermann. Plz._

Kent watches as Camilla reaches for her phone, reads, then glances up for just a moment before tapping out a response.

_Larissa and I have been talking. Planning on going to prom together and everything. Go get ‘em._

Kent grins. This has the potential to shape up to be a very good day.

He replies with three smiley faces and _Thanks CC. You’re the best._ He gets a _Good Luck_ in response.

**

Because he has to maintain a decent GPA to play hockey, and because his mother would probably lock him in the basement if he didn’t, and because he figures that smart guys like Jack don’t want to date slackers, Kent pays close attention as Jack helps him to organize his thoughts into an outline. Kent counts it as a success that he’s not too distracted by daydreaming about sitting in Jack’s lap.

At 5:19 Kent makes his move.

“So, like, do you wanna hang out?”

Jack looks startled, eyes wide and bangs hanging adorably, hands cradling history books in much the same manner that Kent imagines them cradling other things.

“I mean, not right now, because I have practice and you probably have stuff you need to do, but, you know, sometime?”

Jack squirms a little, bites his lip, and utters an “Euh…”

“Maybe you, me, and Lardo? I’d come to GSA meetings but I don’t really have time with the hockey and homework and stuff. Here, I’ll put my number in your phone.” Kent reaches out his hand before it occurs to him that he may be entirely too forward, and he feels his face flush. _Smooth, Parse,_ he thinks as he aims for casual by running his hand through his hair, succeeding only in producing a more prominent cowlick.

He feels a glimmer of hope when Jack does finally take out his phone. “Euh, I’ll just…can you just tell me your number?”

Kent imagines that he must be grinning like an idiot when he recites it for Jack. His face falls a bit when Jack gives him a half smile and then doesn’t make eye contact with him for the last few brief minutes that they’re in the library. But when they walk out the doors, Jack gives him a small smile and an “a bientot,” and Kent is only stopped from pumping his fist in the air by the way he manages to trip over his own feet.

**

Robert Frost would not be proud, Kent decides the next day at lunch. Jack is sitting with Lardo, and, interestingly but unsurprisingly, Camilla. Kent looks at the way Camilla is leaning in, flirting easily with Lardo, and feels a wave of envy over how readily they seem to have come together, followed by a wave of jealousy that the two of them are basking in the presence of McHottie Zimmermann. He has a brief moment of fortitude, then waffles when Troy waves him over to the hockey table.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Easy words to live by on the ice, nearly impossible to follow off of it.

There’s a sort of comfort in being surrounded by his loud, obnoxious teammates. There’s an even greater comfort in the fact that Troy, out of all of them, is the one who has more emotional intelligence than a houseplant. “How’s the great wooing going?” he says low as the rest of their team is distracted by a Tater Tot Tower.

“He asked for my number,” Kent replies, presenting the abridged version of events.

“Hockey legend’s son, has bad taste. You have lucked out this time Parse.”

“Fuck you,” Kent lobs back, and it’s partially jovial and partly fueled by anxiety. Just because Jack got his number doesn’t mean that he’ll actually call, or make eye contact with Kent ever again, or decide not to catch the next plane back to Quebec, or not ask his parents to enroll him in a boarding school in Paris. 

But later, when it’s time to choose partners for their history projects, Kent feels a surge of courage and practically leaps over a desk to ask Jack to partner with him. The look in Jack’s eyes might be relief or it might be dread, it’s hard to tell, but he doesn’t say no.  
Kent has the wherewithal to suggest they make study dates with Lardo and Camilla, hoping that it’ll bring Jack a sense of comfort. Kent is just hoping that the girls will clue him in if he’s making an ass of himself in his attempts to flirt. He doesn’t have any illusions over the fact that they’d experience schadenfreude on his part, but they’d probably rescue Jack from embarrassment. 

**

_You need to chill. Don’t scare him off._

This is rich, as Kent knows that Lardo has typed this out with somewhat sweaty hands hidden beneath the dining room table because whenever Camilla opens her mouth, Lardo gets cartoon hearts in her eyes.

Then again, she’s probably right, because the cartoon hearts seem to be working on Camilla, whereas whenever Kent tries to drop in a compliment, Jack just looks mildly bewildered. 

“I’m gonna get some more water from the kitchen.” Camilla pushes her chair back and Kent mirrors her. “I’ll help you,” he says quickly.

“Very nice of you to help out Kenny,” Camilla chirps as she fills the pitcher. “But I got my tennis elbow from actually playing tennis, not from pouring water into cups.”

“CC, you’re a bomb-ass tennis player who knows how to handle your racquet and we all know it. You’re also a bomb-ass charmer. Share your ways with me,” Kent whines as he pulls four glasses from the cupboard.

Camilla sighs. “Be yourself. We’re finishing up in half an hour here. Ask Jack to go get coffee with you so I can make out with my girlfriend. Talk about things you have in common. You know, like a normal person.”

**

Kent orders a caramel frappucino. Jack orders black coffee. Kent goes into mild crisis mode while they’re weaving through tables to find a good spot. Prior to high school, Kent’s mom had tried to give him a gentle talk about how not every crush and relationship can be The One. Her words are dancing a tango with Camilla’s advice in his mind. What if they have exactly nothing in common?

“So,” Kent starts after sucking down an inch or so of iced goodness and watching Jack take a slow, careful sip of his hot coffee. “Do you like hockey?”

Immediately, every single clichéd line that Kent has ever read in a Young Adult novel about hoping for a hole to open up and swallow him runs through his head. Sitting across from him is Bad Bob Zimmermann’s son, who is not, as far as Kent knows, on any hockey team, who lights up talking about history, who has moved into Kent’s school district because Bob has taken a coaching job with the Rangers. Anyone who has ever said that there’s no such thing as a stupid question is wrong. So wrong.

Inexplicably, Jack actually smiles. “Yeah, I like hockey. My earliest memory is being on the ice with my dad. I like playing, but euh, not really into the competition part of things.”

It’s easy then, as if the universe has decided that Kent Parson has managed to do something right and good and beautiful in his life and consequently thrown him a nice, meaty bone. Suddenly they’re talking, really talking, and the next half hour passes in a blink. By the time they finish, say their goodbyes, and Kent makes his way home, he’s entirely too wired on caffeine and sugar and infatuation and giddiness to try to sleep. Morning practice will be hell, but Kent can’t bring himself to care.

**

“My parents want to meet you.”

Jack’s whispering and Kent thinks it’s only partly due to the fact that they’re in the library. Jack is fidgeting; playing with the hem of his shirt and squirming in his chair. Kent isn’t exactly sure what to do with this information. On the one hand, he and Jack haven’t even kissed. On the other hand, Jack must be talking about him enough that his parents have picked up a clue. On the third, theoretical hand, everyone but Kent might just think that Kent exists in a nice little friend zone.

As is his wont, Kent remains nonchalant and smooth. “Uh, that’d be great. Gotta meet the people who made the hottest guy in school.”

Jack turns as red as a tomato, and Kent feels his own face heat up. His phone reminds him that it’s only 4:48. The next half hour takes approximately seven eternities, but at the end of it, Jack leans over and asks, “Does dinner Thursday night at my house work for you?”

“Sounds great,” Kent replies, and he feels light-headed from the relief.

**

“Your parents are really nice.”

Kent turns away from admiring Jack’s photographs. He’s feeling loose and relaxed. Bob and Alicia are masters at putting people at ease, and Jack’s room is exactly how Kent has pictured it.

Kent promptly remembers why he’s spent so much time imagining Jack’s room and loses every ounce of his chill.

“You look like them, your mom and dad. Mostly your dad, but your mom some too.” Kent knows how stupid he sounds, but it’s a better option than ‘Your dad is really hot and I’m pretty sure you’re going to end up looking like him and I’m really, really happy about that, but I also like that you’re your own person and you have your own stuff going because you’re pretty much the nicest guy I’ve ever met and I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt this way before.’

Jack gives him a weird look, and Kent can feel his face redden. This is his life now.

“I don’t know,” Jack says.

“Okay, Mr. Sarcastic, I know; I just made a super obvious statement. People look like their parents.”

“That’s…not really what I meant.” The look on Jack’s face is inscrutable. 

Kent shrugs. “Okay.” He doesn’t get it, and the silence feels awkward, and now Jack is staring at him intently, which is a little bit uncomfortable because of the awkward feel of the things, but it also makes Kent want to kiss Jack even though his parents are downstairs.

Kent blinks, wondering if Bob and Alicia know and are just open-minded parents, or if they don’t know and a super awkward scene involving Bad Bob Zimmermann walking in on his son making out with another guy is imminent.

“I’m not what people want me to be. That’s what I meant.” 

It takes a moment for Kent to decipher that Jack is referring to his previous comment. He’s at a loss for what to say, but Jack presses on.  
“I don’t mean my parents. They never pressured me. It’s just, what everyone else….what people think when they find out who my parents are, and they….I can tell they wonder why I didn’t turn out like them.”

“Oh.” Kent gets it, the family comparisons. His sister was an honor student, is soon to head off to medical school at Johns Hopkins. He’s more proud of her than he can even say, but sometimes he feels it, the bemusement that people seem to have that two people can come from the same parents and be so vastly different. “Look, Jack. It takes a lot of…character, I think. To go your own way, I mean. I think it’s cool; you being into your own thing. Better than being a sheep, you know?”

Jack turns away and looks out the window. Kent wonders what he said wrong.

“Kent, why do you like me?” 

“I…” and Kent isn’t entirely certain, how to proceed. He feels like he’s getting mixed messages. Most of the time, he swears Jack likes him back, as more than a friend. But then there are these times where he can’t read Jack at all. He takes a deep breath. He may as well lay it all out there, even if it means possibly getting his heart run over by a zamboni. “I saw you at practice, sitting with Lardo. I thought you were hot. Then we had class together and….well, okay, I heard that accent and got an even closer look and, you know, I’m sixteen. But then we started talking and you just….you’re so nice, and you like what you like and you aren’t afraid to show it and….you’re just so cool…” 

He trails off as Jack turns to face him, and there’s that inscrutable look on his face. Funny, at one point Kent would have said that Jack Zimmermann was an open book.

“Kent, have you seen yourself?”

It’s the weirdest question that Jack could have asked. “Jack, I don’t understand.”

“I’m fat, Kent. My mom was a model and she’s an actress and my dad is a ‘hockey legend’ and I play sometimes but I’m not ‘serious about it’ and I’m fat and socially awkward and every day I’m sitting next to the best hockey player in school and he’s also the hottest guy in school and for some reason he wants to be around me.”

It used to be, Kent never really understood what people meant when they said they’d been rendered speechless. When he finally regains the ability to speak, he’s amazed that he’s not tripping over every word. “Jack, you’re not fat. But I mean, whatever you wanna call it, I guess. You’re gorgeous and I’m gay as fuck and I meant everything I said about you. And you don’t have to be like your parents and fuck everyone who ever made you feel bad about that because that’s a really shitty way to make someone feel. Also, we’re in high school; everybody is socially awkward. Seriously, there’s probably like, six people in our school who aren’t socially awkward, and one of them is Camilla. And, I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s a goddess, but one time she definitely dropped an entire tray of pasta and salad on some guy’s head. Well, actually she did that twice, but the second time I’m pretty sure it was on purpose because it was on Nick Miller and he’s a fucking asshole. Seriously, one time he called Trina Nguyen a…”

Jack is cutting him off, suddenly, because he’s gotten right up in Kent’s space and now he has one hand on Kent’s shoulder and the other cradling his neck, and he’s kissing Kent. And okay, it’s only the second time in his life that Kent has ever kissed anyone, but Jack’s lips are almost as soft as he’d imagined them to be and it’s pretty much perfect.

When Jack finally pulls away, he leans in so that his forehead is touching Kent’s, thus completing Act I of 98 percent of Kent’s fantasies about how their first kiss would go down. “We have like, two minutes before my dad figures out why we’ve disappeared into my room and he comes upstairs. My parents know I’m bi and they’re really open-minded, but we have to go downstairs if we want to avoid a really awkward sex talk.” Jack pulls away and takes Kent’s hands. “Actually, we might get one anyway if we go downstairs right now, unless you can come up with a hockey question to ask when we get back down there.”

“I think I can do that.” Kent gives himself a mental pat on the back for not sounding completely breathless. “We are going to make out sometime soon though, right?” he asks as they walk out of Jack’s room and Jack pulls the door closed behind him. “Not that I’m trying to pressure you into anything, or rush you or whatever,” he adds quickly.

Jack gives him a smile, one of the soft ones that always make Kent feel like he does when he’s just hit the puck and he knows it’s about to go into the opposing team’s net. “We will,” he says “As long as I get to hold your hand in school tomorrow.” He turns pink at this, and Kent thinks it’s a great look on him. Later, when he’s alone and won’t embarrass himself completely, he’ll think about all the ways he can make that look happen. “Fuck yeah,” he says.


End file.
